


blister

by tiramisu_3



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, rival dynamics, tsukishima kei is tsukishima kei
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:47:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25870831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiramisu_3/pseuds/tiramisu_3
Summary: Tsukishima thinks of the brief, strange time of day when both the sun and the moon share the sky, and he thinks of Hinata and himself on the court. All of a sudden, he feels the worst he ever has. His body is wild and unsettled, and his mouth thins.Or, Tsukishima doesn't have issues with Hinata so much as he has Issues With Himself.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 3
Kudos: 120





	blister

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Slumber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slumber/gifts).



Tsukishima Kei hates it.

Of course he does. How could he not?

He bites the inside of his mouth, just shy of drawing blood. He knows all about hatred and fear—the way they masquerade as the other, taking and feeding and taking and feeding, tangled up together like snakes. After all, how often has he made a game of mapping the minefields? How often has he thrown rocks with careless precision and leaned back to watch, delighted and disappointed, and wholly unsurprised?

He would have to be arrogant, pretentious, and then some to have such vision and still be blind to himself. All this to say… he’s not afraid. He’s _not._

Not of the spring in his step or the light in his eyes, not the tension of his slim thighs or the elastic pressure of his spiking arm. He’s not afraid of Hinata.

He can feel Hinata’s eyes on him and it’s a vivid, aching touch on the back of his neck. _You can’t see shit, shrimp. You couldn’t read it if you tried. Not the world, not the court, and not me._

Even before Hinata pops up in front of him with his mouth already open, Tsukishima bites through his lip. He feels exposed and raw, even under the smallest brush. It’s the shadow of Hinata’s eyelashes and the shape of his cheeks. The way his hair seems as sharp as a sunrise.

He hates it. He’s not afraid.

* * *

With every day that passes, Tsukishima learns new depths of fury. Hinata watches them all, with those feral, glittering eyes, and Tsukishima’s tongue is heavy with bitterness. Hinata watches him and Tsukishima’s entire body seethes and splits.

He’s not a resource. He won’t give Hinata anything. Not for free, and certainly not for his benefit.

Tsukishima jumps and blocks and spikes, and wonders if Hinata is watching. He wonders if Hinata can amplify something so ordinary and obvious into a miracle, the way he always seems to do.

He’s talking about volleyball, and not himself. Obviously.

Tsukishima narrows his eyes and stands up straighter. He can’t clench his teeth any tighter, and his jaw throbs. When he leaves early, his hand shifts to the back of his neck, just because.

* * *

Tsukishima breathes in deep and watches the sky. His room is quiet and here, alone like this, the night envelops his entire realm of consciousness. Things feel safe and soft, and the world is different: full of ordinary, wonderful possibility.

He taps his fingers against the glass, his heart skipping a beat.

He thinks of the brief, strange time of day when both the sun and the moon share the sky, and he thinks of Hinata and himself on the court. All of a sudden, he feels the worst he ever has. His body is wild and unsettled, and his mouth thins.

They’re the same, he thinks. Everything tossing and turning in his heart, indecipherable and inextricable, cools to something like glass. Something a moment away from shattering.

For all that Hinata and Tsukishima watch and watch and watch, for all the secrets and riddles that they turn over, Hinata is exactly what he’s always been.

Hinata is _better._

Hinata is better when he has no right to be.

He lacks subtlety and discipline. He lacks dignity, and for all that he’s earnest and frantic, he lacks real, honest passion. He’s nothing like Tsukishima, who stays so still that his dreams don’t take fright and fly away, even though he wants to hold on so tight that his fingers crack with the effort. He’s nothing like Tsukishima who sacrifices silently, expecting nothing in return for what he chooses to give. He’s nothing like Tsukishima, who is so careful not to even speak about what he wants in case it crumbles in the wind.

He draws the curtain. His hand shakes, and just for a moment, the darkness is overwhelming and unfamiliar.

They’re nothing alike.

* * *

Tsukishima knows the exact moment there’s no going back. He hears the shards hitting the floor the moment he hears Hinata’s voice and the force beneath his words.

Try harder, try harder, do better—it’s not what Hinata is saying but it’s what he means, isn’t it?

Like Tsukishima has nothing to be jealous of simply because he won the genetic lottery, like being incredible is within his reach, just like that. He turns on Hinata and he feels it pour down his spine, a spill of gasoline when Hinata doesn’t shrink or look away, his eyes seeming to glow.

He has to lean down to drag Hinata to him, a fist in the collar of his awful, sweat-damp shirt, but he barely notices his body move.

“Stop it.”

Hinata blinks at him, his small, expressive mouth parting in surprise but not much else, words already taking shape with his electric thoughts.

“Shut up. _Stop it_.”

He can feel Hinata’s heartbeat where his knuckles dig into his sternum and somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers that Hinata’s toes are brushing the wooden floor. Sparks bite his fingers, and Tsukishima can’t breathe.

“Aren’t you ashamed? Everyone knows you’re a monster. A foul, ravenous, little monster, wanting so much it’s written all over your face. It’s dripping off of you.”

The harshness of his tone breaks into desperation as he talks and he knows it, but he can’t for the life of him shut up.

“It’s not going to happen just because you want it the most. You can’t even prove that you do. You’re nothing better than a starving dog on the side of the road pretending to be anything but, begging for scraps and swallowing down trash like it makes things any different, like it changes who you are. Like it changes what you are.”

He lets go of Hinata’s shirt without looking away from his burning eyes, still painfully, hungrily aware of the way Hinata shifts to regain his footing, of the way Hinata’s shirt sticks to him in places that stir the blood in his veins.

The words are a flood until they hit the air, cementing. “It’s pathetic. You’re just painting a fucking target on the back of the thing you want the most, so someone knows exactly what to take from you.”

He turns away, shaking with the force of it, still. “Not that a moron like you would ever understand.”

* * *

Tsukishima leaves without any of his things, guilt and self-loathing mixed to lethality all through his body. It’s invisible, of course. Internal. Safe. Not that it matters anymore.

He wants to kick himself for being clumsy—for leaving traces of himself in his abandoned bag, in the sweat cooling crisply on his back, in the open door he’d left behind. Even the King could put that shit together.

A branch cracks behind him as he reaches the gate and despite himself, he turns.

Everything in him is crystal clear and fragile as he sees Hinata there, his school jacket pulled haphazardly over his shoulders and carrying all of their things. He's a canopy of autumn leaves and nothing short of a punch to the gut. 

The obnoxious white-knighting rallies Tsukishima’s acerbic fighting spirit until Hinata dumps the lot on the ground, with the dirt and god knows what else. Hinata’s eyes are as bright as a million stars, and it’s so much. He's captured entirely by the slight swell of Hinata's bottom lip and the weight of his movements, by the fan of his brows. 

“Is this about what I told Yamaguchi?”

Tsukishima stiffens and fails to sneer. “What did you—

Hinata rocks on the balls of his feet and a firefly grin flits across his face. “Oh, nothing.”

Almost instantly, Hinata’s face darkens, like storm clouds have swallowed the apples in his cheeks and a bulb has blown in the back of his eyes. “If it's not that, then... what’s wrong?”

Hinata steps forward, looking up at him, the tips of their shoes almost touching. His voice is the quietest Tsukishima has ever heard it. “Is it me?”

Hinata is standing so still, all of his chaotic, ferocious attention trained on Tsukishima’s face, flicking just once, deliberately, to his mouth. It makes Tsukishima shudder and he can’t help but say it, his voice breaking. “I hate how much you want. I hate seeing it, day after day after day. Don’t you understand how hard it is to want anything in this world? How much it _hurts_?”

Hinata presses his palm to Tsukishima’s chest, his beautiful amber eyes clear as his gaze rests on Tsukishima’s mouth. There’s a giddiness in his face now, a gathering of courage before he leaps and flies, barely able to contain the joy. “You idiot. Do I look like I’m the one in pain?”

Hinata reaches up, his lithe, dangerous body curving in as he stretches to press their lips together.

* * *

He misses by an inch, and Tsukishima smirks. The ground steadies beneath him as Hinata flushes right to the tips of his ears, pressing his lips together in an unbearable sort of pout. Hinata looks somewhere down by his feet and he mumbles so petulantly that Tsukishima always makes things difficult that Tsukishima snickers, low and mean.

He leans down, meeting Hinata’s eyes, their lips so close that electricity pops and fizzes in the space between them. Tsukishima’s eyes flash, just before he kisses Hinata. It's fleeting and perfect and so gentle it's barely more than a brush of their lips, but Tsukishima's heart is fiercer than a storm-driven sea and his hands are curled into fists, holding on as tight as he can. It makes the world stop, and he has to look away.

“You make it too easy.”

**Author's Note:**

> i found this written sideways on study stuff from last year and wanted to share it but mostly to dedicate it to @slumberish, who i adore from the very bottom of my heart. her love of stories really is something magical, and the joy she takes in it is so infectious. it shines in her writing and well. i cannot overstate how lovely she is, and how heartbroken i am that i won't see her this year :(
> 
> anyway! please enjoy. maybe one day soon i will write something new ♡
> 
> i'm on twitter [@tiramisuwrites](https://twitter.com/tiramisuwrites) :)


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